Running

The 2026 Marathon Training Blog: Week 7

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“Is it too late to kill my stepfather?”

Danny Dallas, Soap

Monday 20th July

I am tired today. Real can’t-be-arsed tiredness, both physically and mentally. Legs heavy, brain foggy. I felt it coming on yesterday evening. I even got a decent night’s sleep as well.

I’m feeling so leggy that I’m not looking forward to the lunchtime weights session. However, once I start, I get somewhat of a second wind. It’s not that bad, and I seem to fly through it.

After lunch, though, another dip.

Then news comes in that Kevin Keegan has died. To all of us in this part of the world, it’s like the Pope has died. I feel very sad, although I can’t help thinking that part of that may be because he’s someone from my past who reminds me of my dad. It’s like re-grief, or something.

Doing my yoga cheers me up a little. There’s nothing like a bit of routine to help you get through any trauma. By the end of the day, though, I really am spent and flat.

Tuesday 21st July

I feel less tired today and really get stuck into work. I was massively unproductive yesterday and, as someone who works fully remotely, I feel a lot of guilt if I don’t think I’ve put in a proper shift.

The day flies by and then it’s time for the club session. For the first time in what seems like ages, we’re doing a session on the “Field of Dreams”. That sounds quite exciting, but it’s basically a local sports field that everyone has named ironically, as most people hate any training we do here.

It’s just over a kilometre in circumference, and whatever kind of session we do here always involves going round and round and round it. We come here during the summer as the coast can get quite busy and we end up pissing people off.

I personally have a love-hate relationship with it. Sessions here are tough, but I’m convinced that the monotony of lapping the field is inadvertently helping with our mental strength. Or it’s punishment.

I do a five-mile warm-up on the way there and the legs are still a bit, well, leggy. It’s a lovely summer evening: warm but not too warm, with a bit of a cooling breeze in the air.

We’re doing “Mystery Fartleks”. The idea is that we’ll run as a group and a different person will take the lead and push the pace. They can push it for as long as they want, anywhere between 30 seconds and six minutes, the idea being that they don’t tell the rest of the group. That’s the mystery bit.

When someone is done, we jog easy for a minute, then the next person takes over. We do that for 30 minutes.

This session is always tough. There’s something uncomfortable about trying to keep up when you don’t know when you’re going to stop.

Having said that, when you’re the leader and in control, it’s suddenly really easy.

When I lead, I have no idea of time, so I tend to pick a tree or a corner in the distance that I know will be around a couple of minutes away.

One of the group does the full six minutes.

Fuck my life.

Although it does eat into our 30 minutes, so fair play.

I’m knackered at the end, but I know it’s one of those sessions that’s done me the world of good. Fartleks and thresholds are hard work, but good work.

That’s what I’ll keep telling myself anyway.

Wednesday 22nd July

I get one of the best night’s sleeps I’ve had in a while. I put this down to a couple of reasons, mainly that our cat stayed out all night and didn’t wake us up.

He’s a sociopath, our cat.

But he doesn’t wander in until 7am today, which means I get a respite from waking up in the dead of night to find him sitting on my head.

Newcastle have set up a shrine for Keegan at the ground, so I’ve decided to go there straight after work and leave one of my old scarves. I can then incorporate my six easy miles on the way back, probably getting off the Metro early and running home.

It’s a sombre but respectful mood at the ground. There is quite a crowd, a real mix of young and old, men and women.

There are all sorts of tributes, mostly shirts, scarves and flowers. Although I do give a wry chuckle to the box of Special K someone has left.

I tie my scarf to one of the railings on the stairs, then pop in to sign the book of condolence. I’ve no idea what to write, so I just put:

“Thanks for the memories. Always our Number 7.”

Wanky guff, but I was put on the spot.

I take the opportunity to visit my dad. Well, a memorial stone we had placed in front of the Milburn Stand after he died. I give it a quick wipe, tell him I’m alright, then head back off to the Metro.

Re-grief, I told you.

I’ve figured out that if I get off at Palmersville Station, that’ll be around six-ish miles back home. The first mile involves climbing a fairly steep hill, but it takes me to a bridge over the A19 rather than the flatter route, which would involve negotiating a very busy roundabout.

The death of Keegan and thoughts of my dad have really triggered the nostalgia in me this evening.

The hill I’ve climbed takes me into Killingworth Village, and from here the view reveals a lot of ghosts from my past.

In the distance I can see the remains of Fenwick Pit, where my grandfathers and great-uncles sweated out a hard living. I can see Shiremoor, where my dad and a lot of my mam’s family originally came from. I can see the sea and the Cheviots on the horizon.

All that’s missing is some Elgar.

I cut through the Lonnen and the fields next to where I grew up. I used to play with my mates around here as a kid, and the nostalgia is now completely overwhelming.

I’m not really a crier, thankfully, or I’d be in trouble at this point.

By the time I get back home, I notice I’ve overshot by about a mile. Seven instead of six.

It’s been a strange evening and a strange run. But rather than ending it sad, I feel happy.

Proud of where I’ve come from. Proud of all those before me who grafted to give me the opportunities I have today.

I’m going to Poland to run a marathon.

My grandad would have thought I was going to the Moon.

Thursday 23rd July

After the emotional rollercoaster that was Wednesday, we’re hit with the reality of Threshold Thursday.

This is a repeat of last week: five times two miles, except it’s going to be warmer.

I also feel drained today. I’m not sure whether it’s physically drained or emotionally drained, but the legs are heavy.

I spend the day getting as much energy into me as possible before heading out the door at about six-ish.

I do the same route as last time: warm up to the local estate for the start of the first rep, then head down to the seafront.

The paces are also the same as last week. First mile at a fast threshold pace, second mile at slower marathon pace. Each is followed by a two-minute recovery, which can either be static or a slow jog.

I always choose the jog, as I’m crap at starting fast again after coming to a complete standstill. I’d much rather keep moving.

I’m heading further north up the coast than last week, and it’s warm.

I complete rep three as I hit Blyth Battery and turn back south, whereupon I’m immediately blasted with a headwind.

Where the hell did that come from?

As with any headwind, it makes things hard work. In fact, for the first time in the seven weeks so far, I’m feeling tired.

Not to the point where I want or need to stop. More that I just want the session to be over.

I battle through the fourth rep before a surprising second wind appears from nowhere during the fifth and final one.

I finish tired and have to lie down on the grass for a bit.

This has probably been the hardest session of the plan so far, but it’s done. It’s one of those sessions we’re supposed to bottle and remember if we ever need to dig deep later on.

Friday 24th July

Today I feel exactly as I thought I might: heavy-legged. I would have been shocked if I’d felt any other way, to be honest. My lunchtime weights session is a bit of a slog, but it gets done.

I head out in the evening for my four easy miles and hill reps, and the legs really are feeling it now. Even before I reach the ramp where I’ll be doing the reps, I hit a very slight incline and feel like I’m struggling to get up it. That’s not a great sign.

Expecting the worst and hoping for the best, I get to the ramp and start the reps. They actually goOK. It seems to pass quickly, and the legs find something to get me through. This is what marathon training is all about though: pushing through on tired legs.

Saturday 25th July

It’s rest day, which also means parkrun volunteering day. I’m back on funnel duty, and the weather is much warmer than last week, although unseasonably windy. And when I say windy, I mean windy.

At one point, my hat flies off, and only a wall stops it from meeting a watery grave or being carried off on the current to Denmark.

Unlike last week, this one passes without incident. We have around 100 fewer finishers this week as well, which helps. I’m starting to get the hang of this funnel stuff now. I think I’ve perfected the tone needed to get runners to hurry through the funnel whilst simultaneously praising them for a job well done.

Aware that tomorrow is a 20-miler, I do as little as possible for the rest of the day. I sort out a bit of gardening, pruning and weeding, but that’s about it. After stuffing my face with pasta, I get an early night and set my alarm for 5:20am.

Saturday nights in your 40s, eh?

Sunday 26th July

I’ve been a little nervous about this long run. It’s 20 miles, the longest so far, but also the first time I’ve gone 20 or over since the marathon 13 months ago.

I did 18.2 miles a couple of weeks back, so technically all I need to find is another 1.8 miles in the legs. Hardly a massive jump, but psychologically this is a really important run. If I can complete a nice, steady, dare I use the word comfortable, 20 miles at my marathon target pace today, then my confidence going into the second half of training will be massive. If I struggle at all, self-doubt will creep in.

It’s a fine line we’re walking. Or preferably running.

The other factor at play here is that I’m going away on holiday for 10 days next week. I’m off to Menorca, where the temperature continues to sit around 30-35°C most days. As much as I’m taking my running gear and attempting to keep my plan going, I’m also not completely nuts. I already fear the weather will defeat me while I’m away, but knowing I’m on track will mean I don’t mope about it.

I’m up early as planned, and it’s raining. It feels like it hasn’t rained in ages, not properly anyway. It’s forecast to rain all day (and it actually gets worse and heavier in the afternoon), and I’m quite pleased. It’s still going to be warm-ish, and with the heat we’ve had lately, it’ll make a pleasant change.

I do, therefore, make sure I smear myself in anti-chafing cream. It’s perfect chafing weather, so I’m taking no chances.

I’m soaked through within the first two miles, and it’s glorious.

I’m doing my original 20-mile training run from last year, so I drop down onto the coast where it’s much quieter than usual. It seems those Instagram “runners” won’t be getting their sunrise shot in this rain and gloom, so they’ve stayed away.

This is also going to be a dry run (pardon the pun) for a slight change in my fuelling, as I’m now going to incorporate my accidental electrolytes. So far, so good.

The legs are good, the evil seagulls are now chill, the rain is light and intermittent, and my pace is spot on.

I turn at about 11 miles and feel a little fatigue for the first time. However, it doesn’t stick around for long, and I’m fairly comfortable all the way home. Possibly too comfortable.

My last seven miles are all under my target pace. In one way that’s good. It shows I’m certainly not struggling and that the training is doing its job. But in another, I need to show a bit more self-control. I’ve set a target pace and I need to stick to it. I still have another six miles to find on race day, and I don’t want to blow up because I’ve gone too fast.

I end up completing 20.3 miles in 2:59:09.

There’s another little psychological boost there: 20 miles in under three hours.

My fuelling has gone well, I’m tired without being completely knackered, and I have NO CHAFING.

I’m absolutely delighted.

I had a plan, and I’ve executed it perfectly. In fact, I’ve gone slightly faster than anticipated.

And do you know how I celebrate for the rest of the day?

I do NOTHING.

Mood: Fuck yeah

The 2026 Marathon Training Blog: Week 6

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“He played my body like a pinball machine. I lit up, paid out… and no tilting!”

Bren, Dinnerladies

Monday 13th July – I wake up tired but not leggy, which is a good sign. The weather is much fresher this week, which I intend to embrace – we’re only going to hit the high teens in the North East and see a lot of cloud cover. Lovely. Due to work commitments, I have to do my weights session later in the evening rather than lunch time. I do my online Yoga where I feel a little stiff but no more than usual. The weights session I expect to be a ball ache, but I end up feeling really strong during it, like I have power in my legs. It’s a nice surprise and a good sign after the 18 miler yesterday. The chaffing that my phone caused on my hip looks and feels sore, maybe worse than I thought. I make sure I apply a good dollop of Sudocrem to it, but might need to think about protecting it in some way before the weekend. Having felt great during the weights session, I then hit a big wall after having an evening meal and end up having an early night. The fresher weather means it much more comfortable during the night and I sleep like a baby, which I always find a strange turn of phrase as some babies can be absolute bastards.

Tuesday 14th July – I wake up and feel like I got a much better nights sleep for the first time in a while. I’m much more alert and far less leggy. It’s Club night, and tonight is Track. I like that I get to attend one of the Club nights as part of the plan. The support from my fellow club runner wankers is important. Just from people even asking how it’s going is nice. And it’s always best to bore your fellow club members talking about your Marathon, rather than your family. I set off for my warm up and the fresher weather make it so much more bearable. I’m seeing a pattern emerge on the Tuesday. I go out leggy for a couple of miles, then everything starts to kick in and I feel fine. The Track session tonight is 3 x 1200 at about 10k pace, with 2 min static rests after each, followed by 5 x 200m eye balls out sprints (with 200m slow jogs in between). Once we get going, I feel great. For the second week in a row, I feel strong in the Club session. The tiredness has gone, the legs feel like they have some power, my engine feels like it has lots of endurance. Add in the overcast and fresher weather, and it’s an enjoyable night of running. Did I just use the word enjoy? 

Wednesday 15th July – It’s a big day. England are in the World Cup Semi Final against Argentina. Or, if you’re my non-giving-a-toss-about-football 14 year old daughter, it’s ‘are England playing Afghanistan tonight or sumit? Whateva.’ I go out for my 6 easy straight after work, to give me time to shower, eat, and await the inevitable shit show. The wagonway is a lot quieter than I thought, and we’ve got more of that fresher overcast weather from yesterday. This makes it quite a pleasant and satisfying run. I’m not using enjoy again. Sadly, England don’t get to play Afghanistan so do their usual England semi final party trick of leading a game then throwing it away in the last 10 minutes. Classic England. To be honest, I always feel hugely relieved when England get knocked out. It’s the hope that kills you. 

Thursday 16th July – As if it wasn’t depressing enough having to deal with England getting knocked out last night (I work with lots of Scottish and Irish people, feel my pain), it’s also Threshold Thursday. Tonight’s are epic as well – 5 x 2 miles. I don’t remember this from last year. Perhaps I’d blanked them out. The good news though is that the cooler weather has held. So at least we’ve got that going for us. I’m just going to follow the route I did last week for the 4 x 2 miles but go slightly further along the coast before turning. Last week went well in the heat, and tonight I also get to mix the paces up. So, one of the miles will be ‘fast’, the other at Marathon Pace. Rinse and repeat. Even though it’s cooler than last week, this session feels like harder work. Weirdly, I think if the 2 milers had all been Threshold Pace, I might have found this easier. Instead, I find I’m checking and counting the first mile on my watch in anticipation for the 2nd mile being a bit slower. Like I want to get the first mile out of the way, which is not a good thing. Having said that, this is still a good session and sort of goes to plan. I’m hitting around 7:35-40 pace on my first mile, 8:20-30 on my second ones. Both are too fast, but I’m comfortable. The Club are doing a Time Trial tonight, a fast handicapped 5k along the coast, which I thought about doing then decided would be a really bad idea. My last 2 miles coincide with most of the group coming in, so I quite enjoy shouting them in on this last bit, as well as giving out high fives to a few as they pass. God, I really am a run club wanker. I finish on the sea front, having ran 12 and a half miles. I’m finding that the Thresholds are the hardest session of the week, but also the most rewarding. I felt quite strong throughout, and even though I’m tired, it’s a ‘good’ and satisfying tired. 

Friday 17th July – I wake up with no ill effects from Thresholds the evening before. It’s another dull cloudy day and the last day of term before the kids break up for the summer holidays. This will probably see the coast a lot of busier during the week, so something to keep in mind when thinking about where to run. Fucking general public. My wife has bought me some Chafing Cream for my long runs. Who says romance is dead. I do a weights session during my lunch break, then head off down to the coast form my 4 easy with hills in the evening. It’s surprisingly breezy down the sea front – it’s also high tide, meaning there are some pretty big waves crashing over the prom, something you only usually see in the Winter. The legs are very much on autopilot after last night, but the hill reps feel like they pass quicker than usual.

Saturday 18th July – Parkrun Volunteering day. The heatwave is not only over, it’s dead. It’s, dare I say it, cold down the sea front. Overcast, drizzle in the air, a cold wind coming off the sea. More like January than July. I put on a hoodies and pants. Pants for Gods sake. Despite this, it’s a very busy Parkrun – we have over 600 finishers in the end. They include a Hen Do, where one of them informs me she thinks she might be sick. We also get some arsehole energy in the Funnel. One young lad whinging to me that the ‘funnel is too long’, while an older guy with a 100 t-shirt on aggressively tells us the Funnel is too slow to get moving. Off you fuck lads. I hope you get shin splints.

Sunday 19th July – It’s long run Sunday. We’re back down to 16 miles for this one. Today is all about the chafing. More precisely, the avoidance of it. I’m going to smear on the cream my wife gave me, to see if that makes a difference. It’s cooler again this morning, with a bit of a gusty wind added in. In fact, it’s dull, 11 degrees, and feels more like Autumn. I’m sticking with my stay away from the coast policy. This turns out to be an even better decision once I get out there. That wind really is gusty, and I find out later that it was at its worst down on the sea front. It feels really quiet this morning – much quieter than usual. I get it done without incident, although the odd wildlife behaviour continues. I see a Crow trying to catch a rabbit (no, really) and at one point a Squirrel seemingly fall out of a bush in front of me, before we eyeball each other suspiciously, and it dashes back into the undergrowth. I feel strong throughout and great at the end. More importantly though – no chafing. Hopefully it’s the cream, but it’s difficult to tell as it’s also much cooler, so I’m literally not sweating my bollocks off as much. Next week will give me more of an idea, the temp is due to go up and the long run jumps to 20 miles.

Mood: Chaff free

The 2026 Marathon Training Blog: Week 4

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“Oh, that’s right, Vyvyan. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, smash the drawing room to pieces. That’s very Buddhist, isn’t it?”

Rick, The Young Ones

Monday 29th June – Today is one of those days where everything is a struggle. I think I’m tired, but not in the traditional sense of being tired. I don’t have heavy legs, I don’t feel like I need to have a sleep. I just feel like I properly can’t be arsed. It could be PTS from the Seagull attack. My blister is a bit sore but nothing a bit of strapping and stiff upper lip won’t solve. I do my weights session at lunch time and it really is an effort. The legs are fine, this one feels like a mental fatigue. It is much cooler this week, the air is fresher and it makes a massive difference. I do my Yoga for Runners in the evening and I’ve actually perked right up by then. I’m even happier later on when Japan score against Brazil – I’ve got a fiver on them at 50 to 1 to win the whole thing. Sadly, my dreams of super shoes are cruelly taken away when Brazil score the winner in injury time. Sons of a bitches.

Tuesday 30th June – I feel much better today, and my blister has popped overnight. Apologies if you’re eating breakfast. There is no club session tonight as the 5 Bridges Race is on. I’m therefore planning on going on around an 8 or 9 mile plod along the coast later on. It’s predicted to be a very pleasant 17c at around 6pm, but with a Thunderstorm warning. I’m frustrated about my blister and tape it up as a precaution. It’s warmer than I thought when I get out. The Storm clouds linger in the air but never block out the sun, which is giving off some heat. I turn on around 5 miles and am hit by a lush sea breeze that stays in my face all the way back. I do an accidental 10 miles, the last 5 of which were quite pleasurable. 

Wednesday 1st July – I have dilemma today. I am supposed to be running the Pie and Peas 10k. I’d hadn’t planned on doing this originally. It’s a great race, lovely course, but I didn’t want any ‘fast’ stuff during Marathon training. However, my mate wanted to do it and we signed up during a moment of weakness (I was pissed) in the pub a few months back. However, as England are now playing Congo at 5pm, he’s pulled out. I’ve been in two minds about. I probably shouldn’t have signed up for it, and it’s too late to Bib Transfer (they don’t seem to allow this anyway). However, I have spent £22 to enter it. Also, the England game *shouldn’t* be that important. If they can’t beat Congo in a Round of 32 game then they want shot with shit. That’s not me being a cocky Englishman, that’s me being a realist. In the end, I decide not to do it. It’s the sensible decision. I’m not going to do owt daft. I do feel a bit leggy in the morning, and I’ve got Thresholds to do tomorrow, so both of these sway my decision to a no. I feel bad as it’s a sell out and someone else could have had my number, and I’m not one for just not turning up for a race. I head out for a laboured easy 6 miler along the coast during my lunch hour. It’s a warm day and I’m more tired than a thought I would be, to the point that I take a Gel before heading out, which helps me push through. Maybe psychologically just as much as physically. I’m not complaining though. Welcome to Marathon training. It’s hard. It’s meant to be. England decide to be very Englandy and go behind early, before scoring late on twice. Which means their next match is 1am in the early hours of Monday. As I technically work in a Scottish Office, the chances of getting a late start on Monday have two hopes – Slim and Bob. And Bob is dead. 

Thursday 2nd July – This evenings Thresholds are surprisingly light – ‘only’ 6 x 1km. Thereforethe dread I usually have for this session is far less that usual. It’s a warm and surprisingly windy evening when I head across to the estate. After last weeks issue with my Sunday long run shoes giving me a slight blister, I’ve decided to switch up my footwear. The long run shoes didn’t give me stick until I went over around 12-14 ish miles. I’m therefore going to wear them on this Thursday session going forward, with the ones I usually have on will now be my Sunday long ones. A 10 minute warm up and only needing to do 6km, I should be over and done in no time. Despite this though, I find it tough. Because my head has mentally prepared itself for quick and easy, it’s anything but. I slog my way round, the last 3 are especially a ball ache, before getting back in the house for what feels like no earlier than usual. This was definitely another sign of the psychological fatigue I was feeling yesterday. Still, it’s all part of the process. Every Threshold session I complete is another win. So I’m winning. More importantly though, my running shoes didn’t give me any blister problems. Double win.

Friday 3rd July – Friday means hills. I do a weights session during my lunch hour then after work head out for the 4 miles easy with hill repeats. It’s still fairly warm but there is light rain in the air and it’s a nice change. The hills are getting harder, but I think it might just be one of those weeks where everything is feeling harder. I finish my 4 miles down on the Prom and spot a huge Seal near the shore doing some feeding. I watch it for a bit, enjoying the rain and it being a bit quieter than usual down here. That’ll be because it’s raining, so it’s only daft bastards like me hanging around.

Saturday 4th July – It’s rest day, which means Parkrun volunteering day. I’m helping with the funnel again and am joined this week by my niece, who is volunteering to gain credits for her Duke of Edinburgh Award. It all goes smoothly, no spitters, no pushers, no duckers. We do get a moment where the funnel grinds to a halt, by the looks of it because of an issue with the Tokens. However, it passes quickly and  it’s another successful piece of marshalling where I manage not to kill anyone. 

Sunday 5th July – It’s another 16 miler today, and I’m going to be attempting a slightly different route. It is a route I tried out earlier in the year, so I know it’s 16 miles and I know I can do it. I’m up early and out the door for 6:15am. I’m heading down to the sea front, but this time going North, rather than the usual South. So turning left, rather than right, when I get down there. It’s a pleasant morning, mile without being too warm, still windy but a warm wind. It’s amazing the difference between Winter and Summer wind. Even though it’s just as strong as the Winter stuff today, as it’s not cold it just doesn’t bother me. I hardly even notice it. It’s the same plan as always – try to stick to Marathon target pace. I’m a little apprehensive though after Blistergate last week. As mentioned, I’ve switched shoes for this one. My confidence was a little dented after last week, and I don’t want to find that suddenly long runs are making my feet sore, so that I have to fuck about and buy new ones. This run should let me know where I’m at with that. At around the 7.5 mile mark I hit Blyth and turn away from the coast and inland. I’m going to be following a long straight road for a couple of mile, before then heading into a very scenic off road track that will take me back South for a few mile. About half way down the track, I disturb a huge bird of prey that is sitting in the tree overhead and it swoops majestically in front of me, at eye level, for a few seconds, before flying off. It’s both amazing and I shit myself at the same time. I think it was a Buzzard. It was absolutely huge anyway. I’m now into civilisation, before getting back on the Wagonway which takes me the last 5k to home. The feet have survived and feel fine, so I’m going to settle on this shoe switch. In the evening, England are going to be playing at 1am. Christ. So I have a little nap in the afternoon and then an early night. I get up to watch them win a rather entertaining but no good for the nerves game 3-2, before getting to bed for around 4:30am. I’m sure I will not regret later Monday. Definitely not.

Mood: It’s Coming Home 

The 2026 Marathon Training Blog: Week 2

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“The sex was great, but he was British and had no idea.”

Rebecca, Cheers

Monday 15th June – Yesterday was my wife’s birthday. There was cake, ice cream, bacon sarnies. I ate shit loads with the justification of having run 14 miles in the morning. This is always the danger with us runners – do a long one, burn 1700 calories, then eat 4000. As such, today I feel both leggy AND fat. Thankfully, it’s a rest day. I do my core exercises at lunch time. The legs feel a little heavy, but nothing major.

Tuesday 16th June – My right groin is a bit sore. Or is it my hamstring. Something is sore to the point I’ve noticed it anyway. I’m doing club track session – long reps at 10k pace. I head out for a 5 mile warm up and feel…pretty good. I put this down to the fact that it’s the first weekend in a long time that I haven’t done a ‘fast’ run – either Parkrun or the quicker 10 miler. The track session also goes well. I’m in a good group and the pace is sensible. A couple of warm down laps, and 10 miles in the tank.

Wednesday 17th June – We’re hitting a spell of warmer weather and today is what my grandmother used to call ‘close’. She also use to say lots of racist things. But in this instance, by ‘close’ she would mean the air is warm. I head off down the Wagonway in the evening for my 6 easy and it’s a lovely summers evening. The Wagonway is fairly busy with walkers, dogs, cyclists, and a few runners as well. It’s all very British. I get back in time to watch England beat Croatia 4-2 in the World Cup. It’s coming home. Probably.

Thursday 18th June – The close conditions from yesterday have carried over to today. It’s Thresholds day, so I’m under no illusions that this one has the potential to be hard work. I set off to the local Estate (which I’ve christened ‘The Loop of Pain’) and tonight it’s 10 x 1kms with 2 min recoveries. Despite the fact I complete this at far too fast a pace again, this isn’t as painful as predicted. When I get back in the house, I’m drenched in sweat. It looks like I’ve been dumped in the sea. I smell like it as well.

Friday 19th June – The warm, muggy weather continues. After last nights energy sapping Thresholds, I’m a little heavy legged. Lunch time core session is waaaaarm. Even with the window open, it’s hotter than Christina Ricci circa 1999. In the evening, it’s 4 miles with hills. Thankfully, it’s cooled down a bit. To stop losing count on my 10 hill repeats, I say the name of an NUFC footballer who used to wear that shirt number in my head as I go up. The more obscure the better. I bet mo one has said Wayne Fereday’s name in years. Unless making a list of our shittest ever players.

Saturday 20th June – No run today, so I continue to volunteer at the Parkrun. I’ve massively got the hang of the Funnel Manager role now. It’s important today especially, as due to other venues cancelling and the weather finally deciding to do that summer thing, it’s busy. For about a 5 minute period, I think I shout ‘well done everyone, keep moving down the funnel’ about a billion times. I think I shout it in my sleep at 2am later that night. Afterwards, I find out we’ve had pushers on the course (it’s a 2 lap Parkrun, so this does happen from time to time) and someone accidentally spat on the Timekeeper. All of these people are adults, allegedly.

Sunday 21st June – My wife and daughter are up at 3am to head down to the beach to catch the summer solstice sunrise. Whilst I’m partial to an early start, I have a rule about getting up on the middle of the night for anything. It’s that I don’t get up in the middle of the night to do anything. Peeing and catching a flight are my two exceptions. I only have to do 12 miles today, which is nice. It’s a warm and gorgeous morning and I head down the coast, north along it, then back inland to follow the Wagonway back. I again do this at what I want my Marathon pace to be, which I achieve will relatively ease. It will be interesting to see if I can maintain this when I start to hit 18/19/20 milers.

Mood: “Moto Moto. Than means hot hot’”

The Cookson 10k 2026

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“When you grow up, your heart dies”

Allison Reynolds, The Breakfast Club

What do Dolly Parton and running have in common? This is not a boob joke, by the way. The answer is – absolutely nowt.

Until now.

It’s Cookson 10k time again. The most local race to me, organised by my running club. First run waaaay back in 1921, it’s had a chequered history, including a few years off and a complete change of course. But the current incarnation is flying. Every year, the feedback is the same – it’s everyone’s favourite race. People love it. I love it.

It’s also famous for having a music-themed finisher’s T-shirt that’s kept secret until the very last minute. I think you’ve guessed where the Dolly Parton connection comes in. In the past we’ve had Joy Division, The Happy Mondays, RUN DMC, The Velvet Underground, to name a few.

While nobody knew exactly what this year’s T-shirt would look like until the race was over, we did get a hint the week before. Race numbers were posted out and, unless you were born and still living on the moon, it wasn’t difficult to guess this year’s artist.

What a way to make a living

When I say this race is local, it really is. The start and finish are less than a mile from my front door.

You could probably catapult me there. Sadly, I’m not currently in possession of that particular piece of medieval weaponry, so I settle for a nice walk instead.

It’s a lovely evening for it. It’s late May, so we’re finally getting an increase in temperature. It’s going to be a balmy 17°C when we set off, which I’m not too bothered about. The biggest issue tonight is going to be the wind. There’s a fairly decent headwind when we hit the hill. Twice. Have I mentioned we do the hill twice? Well, I have now.

On the plus side, it’s a warm wind. And it doesn’t have rain in it. Or sleet.

As this is a race organised by my club, there are a lot of us running it. Red vests scattered everywhere, lots of faces I recognise. I’ve been at the club long enough now to have reached peak wanker status. As in, I seem to know who loads of people are now. Although there are still quite a few I’ve never seen before in my life.

These are the people you never see at any of the training sessions but who are quite obviously club members. They also tend to be the really fast people. I imagine this is because they’re off doing far more hardcore stuff – kicking trees, hanging upside down for six hours, that sort of thing.

I’ve got two slight equipment changes being tested this evening for the very first time.

Firstly, I’ve moved down to a medium-sized running vest. I know – skinny queen. It feels a tiny bit weird, as I’ve always gone for big and baggy, but it’s definitely not too tight. It’s right tight, if that makes sense. Although I do have a feeling it may emphasise my moob bounce, giving off very much a Baywatch vibe when I run full pelt.

Secondly, I’ve recently purchased some running shades. I got these primarily for my summer marathon training. I’m going to be out on long runs through June, July and August, so they’ll be a must. I also look cool as fuck in them, which is all that matters.

It’s time to head to the starting pen. I say “pen” – it’s really just a path outside a school. It’s always a bit of a squeeze at the start. There are around 500 people running this (I’m bib 502, as I’m apparently being alphabetically discriminated against), and that’s a lot of people to squish together on a pavement.

Off to the Start, like a shit Reservoir Dogs

A brief safety message from the Run Director about potentially having to give way to cars on one section of the course (fuck that – I’m commando rolling over the bonnet if it means a PB), followed by the usual “good luck and enjoy” to my fellow club runners, and away we go!

Talking of PBs, I’m unashamedly after one tonight, which is quite rare for me. Normally, I’m not really bothered about them and then end up getting one by accident. Not tonight though. Tonight, I’m after my first ever official sub-45 minutes.

I’m running quick and feeling good at the moment. I also start marathon training in three weeks, so this will probably be my final shot at one for a while.

However, I’ve already mentioned a couple of factors that might royally screw that goal up: those hills and that wind.

Now, the hill I can handle. I grew up at the top of it. My mother still lives at the top of it. I’ve walked, cycled, run, and staggered legless up this hill probably a thousand times. Okay, maybe not a thousand, but you get the wildly exaggerated gist here. So I’ve got no fear of it.

But I hate wind. It’s a motherfucker.

We’re about to find out anyway, because you pretty much start right at the bottom of the hill and then spend the next mile running up it. I’ve done some ducking and weaving through the ‘masses’ at the start line, but it still feels a bit more crowded than usual.

Just because I said I was used to getting up this hill doesn’t mean it isn’t tough. That headwind is also pretty strong, but I proved recently at the Grand Prix and the NT10K that I’ve found a way to battle through it and still hit a decent pace.

On the final stretch, I actually get boxed in a bit and feel like I’m being slowed down. Mile 1 is down though, and it’s an on-target 7:20.

As soon as we hit the flat, I feel a sudden burst of energy and put my foot down. I’m now heading along the street I grew up on and past my old house. I give my old gatepost an acknowledging slap as I pass it and get a sharp ping of nostalgia. Always better than a sharp ping from a hamstring.

I’m feeling really good now, even though there’s still a headwind. We soon get some respite though, as we take a right turn into the Lonnen. I mentioned the Lonnen during my review of this race last year, but it’s basically an old road that’s still unspoilt by development and surrounded by fields.

As I also mentioned last year though, not for long. It’s being slowly encroached upon by “progress” in the shape of 5,000 houses. My nostalgia bubble pops. Or was that my kneecap?

Anyway, at least we’re going downhill now, with the wind on our arses. As predicted, the field has opened up and the old “I got boxed in” excuse is now down the kazi.

Part way down, my watch flashes up for 2 miles and informs me I’ve just done a 6:50. That’s obviously excellent, but also quite frightening on the second mile of a 10K.

Downhill and winning. Kind of.

I… er… might have gone off a tad too fast here.

We’re now out of the fields and back into civilisation. As in, we’re in a housing estate. We’ll cut through here and then be back to where we started.

I’m back on the flat and still feeling quite good as I complete Lap 1. Our club coaches are stationed at this point, so I compose myself and try to look as unfucked as possible as I pass them. I think I got away with it.

Feigning beast mode for the coaches

Lap 1 done, Mile 3 completed – it’s a 6:58.

Piece of piss this isn’t it?

Well, not necessarily, because it’s time to do all that again. Lap 2 of the Cookson is always sink-or-swim time.

I’m back on the hill and back into the headwind. This time round, I’m definitely feeling both. I’m not boxed in either, which, now I think about it, might actually have helped me the first time round as I got a bit of protection from the wind. Now I’m completely exposed to it.

It’s hard graft, but I’m battling through it. Later, I find out from someone I know who was marshalling at this point that they had a few spewers. I’m definitely not going to be hurling chunks, anyway.

As this is Lap 2, the top of the hill is also where we hit Mile 4. This time round, I clock a 7:28, which, if you’re keeping up, is 8 seconds slower than the first time round.

This doesn’t worry me though. I’m not struggling, and these are by far the two fastest times I’ve ever done going up here. I’m also not regurgitating my lunch, so it’s all positives.

However, this time when I hit the flat at the top, I don’t have that previous spring in my step. Who knew a second sprint up a hill would start to tire you out a bit?

I’ve been running pretty much side by side with one of my club colleagues for the last mile or so, and we had a bit of mutual motivational chat on the way up, which helped ease the pain for both of us.

Well, he might not agree.

I know he’s faster than me, so the plan for the final two miles is simply to try and stay with him.

We’re back on the Lonnen now, hitting the downhill and enjoying that arsewind again. I feel like I’m in a good place and realise that, unless something catastrophic happens in the universe right now, I can get my PB without absolutely caning it.

Mile 5 is a 7:09 – 19 seconds slower than the first time round – but I’ve got plenty in the bank. Plus, I need to remind myself of this: that’s massively quick for me in a 10K.

I’m now firmly locked in behind my club colleague and just making sure I stay with him. I let him know I’m using him to pace, but not to worry – his young son could outkick me in a sprint finish, so he’s guaranteed to finish ahead of me.

Self-deprecating bantz. Always a winner.

Mile 6 is a decent 7:05, and I know I could probably limp the last 0.20 and still get a PB. I do not want to test this theory.

As we hit the final straight towards the finish line, my colleague, as predicted, sprints away from me.

Hey, he’s done his job – paced me in exactly as agreed. I do manage to catch a straggler from another club on the way in though, which is always a good feeling, I won’t lie.

I stop the watch and it’s a 44:36, so 7:07 pace. Yup. That’s a PB.

Later, my chip time comes in as 44:32. Even better. Success.

I can now officially call myself a sub-45 10Ker.

Get me.

Now comes the coup de grâce, the crème de la crème, the pièce de résistance, and any other sexy-sounding pigeon French you can think of: the finisher’s T-shirt.

Look at it. It’s a beautiful thing.

Iconic

I share it around Instagram and Bluesky that night and people rave about it. Quite right too – it’s superb. Dolly would approve. And if she doesn’t, there’s a lawsuit coming.

I think we can call this a good night’s work. Race plan executed perfectly, a new PB, a beautiful T-shirt, and I can roll myself home in 15 minutes.

Not before I’ve bought some cake though.

I’ve earned that cake.

Next up, the Blaydon Race. Oh, and 16 weeks of Marathon training.

Behold

Fame

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“I’m about as flamboyant as a bagel”

Doris Finsecker, Fame

It’s time for another non-race review quick one from me.

Hot off the heels of my debut in the podcasting world, the fantastic guys from the Snot Rocket Podcast asked me to come back for another episode.

They mustn’t have listened back to the first one.

I’m not sure if they’ll ask my back for a third time, but it’s been a really great experience whatever happens and I’ve enjoyed my probable short lived brush with fame.

I was asked by a family member to describe what the podcast is about. I would say, think of it as the Running version of Drunk History.

Anyway, Episode 130 was about Coe, Ovett and Cram’s dominance of middle distance running in the 80s. Listen here: (or wherever you find your podcasts)

Apple Podcasts – https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/the-snot-rocket-podcast/id1692259218?i=1000762640247

Spotify – https://open.spotify.com/episode/7bbnyVGaDOpsx3RVDHcgS5?si=qlyyOyYASk-bJxQIM-hNig

Almost Famous

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“I don’t see anyone asking for autographs, do you? Huh?”

Apollo Creed, Rocky IV

Something slightly different (and mercifully brief) for this post.

Andrew and Tommy of the Snot Rocket Podcast invited me on to their show as a guest, to chat primarily about Parkrun.

I’ve been a regular listener for a couple of years now, so was more than happy to accept.

I wasn’t sure how it would go. I’ve never been on a podcast before. I thought there might be a large possibility that I was utter shite.

However, after downing two quick Brown Ales, my nerves were soon settled. Although, it also helped that the guys were so welcoming and put me at ease.

It ‘dropped’, as I believe the kids would say, a couple of days ago and, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was going to listen to it. Like in that way that actors say they don’t like watching themselves on the tele. I’ve gone full diva already. Please, no photos.

I’m glad I did listen though. Because I wasn’t as shit as I thought. Plus, the hour itself went over in a blur, and I had forgotten just how much fun I had with the guys.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I give to you my Podcast debut..

Apple Podcasts – https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/the-snot-rocket-podcast/id1692259218?i=1000752862266

Spotify – https://open.spotify.com/episode/0y8RYivOSR5rMO2mXNdG2r?si=WS-SJ8yDT4GI1Yi4hRMohw

Smalltown Boy

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“1,000 years from now there will be no guys and no girls, just wankers. Sounds great to me”

Mark Renton, Trainspotting

2026 is rubbish number isn’t it? It’s neither nowt nor something as we say round here. Look at it written down. Rubbish. Say it out loud. Rubbish. At least 2025 sounded a bit sexy. Like we were in the future.

But 2026 it is. Maybe it will be a grower. Like a bands difficult second album.

Running wise, it’s set to be another busy year. It will also be a year of plateauing and managing expectations. As I mentioned in the bumper Christmas Special, 2025 was the best running year I’ve ever had. PBs tumbled in every distance. I expect that in 2026 they won’t – and that’s ok.

I also got lucky in 2025 with things like the weather, plus a lack of either injury or illness. The stars seemed to align.

Just like 2025, I’m keeping my goals for 2026 simple and (hopefully) achievable. The main one being a sub 4 hour Marathon. Project 3:59 if you want to give it a wanky name.

Where do I hope to achieve this epic feat? After much deliberation and research, I finally decided on the Solway Coast Marathon in June.

It ticks lots of boxes for me. I did the ‘big city’ Marathon as my first one because I wanted the ‘happening’ around the run. The Expo, the atmosphere, the crowds. It was brilliant and massively added to the experience.

Second time round, I’m going for the complete opposite. There will be no crowds here – it’s all country road – and last year only 72 runners did it. It’s almost going to be like a very scenic long training run, but someone will give me a medal at the end.

Just a scenic training run

It’s also only an hour and a half drive away. So no big epic effort in time, logistics, or money to get there. As it’s June, I won’t have to start the training cycle till March – Spring instead of manky January.

Sounds great doesn’t it? Lots of pros. There is one potential con though, and it could be a biggie – the weather.

In particular, the heat. Because running a Marathon in the middle of the summer might not be a brilliant idea. Yes it’s the UK, yes it’s Cumbria, but the chances of it being warm are much higher than a Spring/Autumn one.

So that might put the kibosh on a 3:59. But you know, if it is warm, then bollocks to the sub 4 hour. I’ll just have a nice summer plod around it, enjoy the scenery and work on my tan. I’m philosophical about these things.

Other than that, I have other races lined up throughout the year. Already confirmed and signed up for are the North Tyneside Trail run in January (idiot), the North Tyneside 10k in April, the Cookson 10k in May, and the Great North Run in September. I’m pretty sure that there will be more as the mood takes me.

So, 2026, here we come. Lots of good running to look forward to, another Marathon cycle to complete, and hopefully the magic sub 4 hour will be delivered.

Happy New Year, whatever your goals are in the next 12 months. Whether it’s returning to running, staying injury free, or completing a Half or Full Marathon for the first time.

Just remember the golden rule that I bore everyone with on here – enjoy it.

Because if it was easy, everyone would do it.

Brampton to Carlisle 10 Mile Road Race 2025

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“I got a full-on robot chubby”

Evil Ted, Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey

And so we arrive at the final race of 2025. It’s been quite a year. I’ll be reflecting on it all in the Christmas Special. The perfect read for when you need to hide in the bog and avoid Uncle Flagshaggers’s 17th monologue about ‘the boats’.

It seems only fitting then that I finish the year with my favourite race on the calendar – Brampton to Carlisle. Not only is it a well organised 10 mile road race through rolling countryside, it’s also a club trip piss up.

So I’m treating this one as an end of season celebration. Enjoy the day and the run, with the only real aim being that I would like to match or better my time from last year.

First off though, a couple of days before, it’s the Club’s Presentation Night. I always get myself a ticket for this. Despite sitting firmly marooned in the mid pack when it comes to races, with zero chance of winning anything but plaudits, I do like to go to this for the buffet and the craic.

And the alcohol.

Ok, mostly the alcohol.

After several trips to the bar, and only a couple to the buffet (honest), it’s time for the business part of the night – 20 minutes of award giving with polite applause. Then I can get back to the drinking. And whatever hasn’t been eaten.

My daydream – making a chip butty from whats left- is broken by something quite odd.

My name being read out.

That’s right. I’ve won an award. A Coach’s Award. I can’t decide whether I’m delighted or mortified. It’s overwhelmingly delighted by the way.

I know I’ve had a good year. In fact, 2025 has been the year of records. Fastest everything, furthest everything. But still, I’m not in it for the glory, so this is a lovely surprise. It also gives my 5 seconds in the Crystal Maze.

Thing of Beauty

So, being an AWARD WINNER, I stay longer and drink more than I had planned. Eventually staggering home at around midnight, waking my wife, as I stumble into the bedroom wafting a crystal in the air whilst mumbling ‘iwonaaward’. Popular, I wasn’t.

The next day, I’m a tiny bit rough. It’s a rest day thankfully. Well, it is now.

36 hours or so after my night of glory, it’s race time. I mentioned at the start that I was going to approach this as a celebration. Well, now I’m an AWARD WINNER, let’s fucking celebrate.

It’s an early start on the Sunday. There are 40 odd of us from the club getting a coach to the start – Brampton is around 50 miles/just over an hour away.

It’s not a great start. Our coach doesn’t turn up on time. In fact, it’s 40 minutes late. ‘Technical Issues’ apparently. The way it splutters over the first roundabout we get to doesn’t bode well. However, it soon gets its shit together, and we’re at the start with about 35 minutes to spare.

Just enough time to dump my crap on the baggage bus, do a warm up, take a piss in a random field, and have the obligatory ‘why are we all up so early on a Sunday in November’ group photo.

We do this for ‘fun’

I feel great on the warm up and – WANKER WEATHER KLAXON – it’s text book running weather. No wind – about 7 degrees. Beautiful.

It’s a perfect storm to smash the shit out of this race – I feel great, the weather is spot on, it’s my last race of the year, and I’m an AWARD WINNER.

So fuck it. Let’s go for it.

Last year I did this in 1:19:35. It was my 10 mile PB, the first time I’d ever run a double figure distance at sub 8 min mile pace. After my sub 1:45 half marathon in July, I’m confident I can easily beat that.

I’m not a cocky twat though. I may be AWARD WINNING, but I’m not the kind of idiot to go out there gung ho.

Until the Starter Pistol goes and I fly out gung ho.

Last year, the non-AWARD WINNING and far less confident version of myself popped himself near the back at the start. This resulted in being caught in congestion – meaning the first mile was slow going.

Not this year. I get myself much nearer the front and find far more room from the off. So much so, that mile 1 is a 7:43.

The first 4 miles follow this pattern. Two 7:46s then another 7:43. I feel great. Really loose, full of energy, like I can handle this pace no problem for the last 10k.

I’m really enjoying this. I said in last year’s review that I like this course a lot. It’s pretty much flat, give or take a couple of climbs, nice countryside running without having to do anything daft like go across a field of mud. I don’t do that Cross Country nonsense. I might have mentioned it.

I’m at the half way point now, and rather than starting to tire, I’m feeling stronger. My mile 5 is a 7:38, my fastest so far.

I notice that I’m also passing quite a few runners. This spurs me on even more. Whether it’s psychology or adrenaline, it’s amazing the energy boost you get from moving up the field in the latter parts of a race.

I take a gel at the halfway point, and it may as well have been spinach to Popeye. Miles 6 and 7 (sIx sEvEn!) are both 7:35s. I’m getting faster and feeling stronger as the race goes on. AWARD WINNING.

I’m aware we have a couple of those gentle climbs coming up near the finish, but the way I’m feeling at this point I couldn’t give a toss. Only injury is going to stop me now. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

I attack the two climbs at miles 8 and 9 whilst hitting a 7:25 and a 7:24. Honestly, I feel like this race could go another 5 mile and I wouldn’t get tired (I have no doubt though that isn’t true, and I’d be blowing out my arse on mile 11).

Mile 10 involves one last climb into Carlisle, before we drop over the other side for a lovely downhill sprint finish.

There is someone in front of me heading into the finishing straight, so I decide to try and catch him. But the gap is too big and he also finishes like a beast, so I accept defeat. However, just the thought of me trying to ‘attack’ the line makes me chuckle. You’ve come a long way baby.

I do cross it in 1:15:56. Knocking a whopping 3 minutes 37 seconds off my 10 mile PB – set in this same race last year. Well, I did say I wanted to better last year..

Behold its glory

I’m absolutely delighted. And what better way to celebrate, than a trip to the Pub. Which is exactly what the 40 of us do. I find an All Day Breakfast washed down with several pints of Guinness is great for recovery.

Recovery Session

3 hours later, we zig zag back to the coach ready for our journey back home. It’s fair to say the bus is a lot more ‘excitable’ than on the way out. Music, more drink, and jelly shots help keep the mood high.

Three pee stops and a couple of hours later, we’re dropped off. At the Pub. Hey, one for the road and all that.

Eventually, I head off home. To wax lyrical to the family about my awesome run, before spending an hour stroking my Award. That is not a euphemism.

On reflection in the days after, I come to two conclusions. The first is, I can’t recover from day drinking as well as in my younger days. The second is this is now officially my favourite race of the year.

My racing in 2025 is officially done.

The blogging is not however. See you for the Christmas Special on December 24th.

Tally Ho!

North Tyneside 10k 2025

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“Son, you got a panty on your head.”

Hayseed, Raising Arizona

Another month, another 10k race. I’m like Mo Farrah. If he’d been a lot slower and chunkier.

I’d actually forgotten about this one. Which is strange, as it’s the only one besides the Great North Run that I do every year. It wasn’t until my Race Bib dropped through the post the week before that I thought – ‘Shit. Oh yeah.’

However, this is not entirely my fault. The NT 10k always takes place on Easter Sunday. Which usually happens in the Spring. Or whenever Jesus feels like it. I know we get ‘late’ Easter some years, but even that would be taking the piss.

In this instance, it has nothing to do with God and everything to do with the local Council. Unless of course the Archangel Gabriel appeared to the Mayor in a vision, demanding she build a cycle lane on the sea front.

Because that’s what they’ve spent the last two years doing. Plopping down nearly 4 mile of shiny new cycle route. Personally, despite how long it has taken them, I approve.

Back during Covid, where we all needed a bit of space (2 metres to be exact), they built a makeshift one down there. They basically just coned a bit of the path off. And it was great for everyone. So they applied for some cash, got it, and now they’ve built a proper one.

Predictably, it created quite a lot of whinging online. Caps Lock obsessed boomers, the unemployable, and people who hang flags off lampposts mainly. Anyway, now it’s finished, and great, all of this has gone quiet. It’s like they didn’t even know what they were complaining about in the first place. Which they didn’t.

Aaaaanyway. They didn’t finish it till the Summer, so they delayed the race till the September. Sensible decision. Me and running in the vicinity of traffic cones is a dangerous combination.

Political and logistical issues now behind us, it’s finally race day. Let’s be completely predictable and start with the weather. Early in the week, it’s not looking good. Not only is it predicted to rain, there will also be the double whammy of a head wind.

The day before, on the Saturday, it absolutely pisses down. And I mean, pisses down. Torrential rain all day, shit loads of wind. Basically, proper awful running conditions.

Thankfully, the next morning the Weather Gods are smiling. The rain is gone and the sun is out. There is still going to be a head wind, but compared to yesterday it’s like the Med out there.

As usual, the start of the race is at the Parks Leisure Centre in North Shields. My original home town, where I was raised, where I’d probably still be living if I hadn’t have married well. I always do that joke. It’s true by the way.

It’s a 10am start, but I have to get down early to chuck my stuff on the baggage bus. Far too early in my opinion – the busses will leave by 9:15am.

I see someone I used to work with and we catch up on gossip, occasionally character assassinating some of the knackers we used to work with. It’s quite cathartic to be honest.

I’ve reviewed this race a lot, so went back to reread what sort of drivel I’ve posted in past years. The below, my description of the start area one year, especially tickled me..

“As per usual, there are a lot of Running Club vests kicking about. All tribally hanging out together like a shit West Side Story.”

Because can you guess what I’m doing at this point? That’s right, I’m wearing my Club vest, hanging out with my tribe, and singing I Want to Live in America. I’m such a fucking hypocrite.

Club mingling done, it’s time to head into the Pen. I say Pen, we all just squeeze onto the very tight Dock Road round the corner. I manage to get much nearer the front than usual – a sign of how I’m feeling about my running at the moment. I used to be a bit sheepish about going too far forward. Today, balls of steel.

My race plan is that I don’t really have much of a race plan. Besides run it as fast as possible. It must be said, this is traditionally not a great course for a 10k PB, due to a few factors at play.

Firstly, the start. I said we’re all squeezed in on this road. That can make the start line a little crowded and slow, meaning you’re already chasing your tail pace wise early doors.

Secondly, this is not a flat fast course. Not really. There is a big drop at the start, but what comes down, must go up. At 2 miles you have to climb up from the river to the Sea Front via the notorious Priory Road. It’s steep and it can slow you down – not only during, but once you’re up and over. What with it leaving you completely fucked.

Lastly, is the Weather. Once you do hit the Sea Front, it’s 4 miles straight North to the finish. Get a day with a northerly head wind and it’s a right bastard.

Today, we are predicted that head wind. How bad it will be we won’t know till we hit the coast. It’ll be a lovely surprise I’m sure.

Anyway, we’ll worry about that later, we’re off.

Antisocially elbowing my way nearer the front may not have won me many friends, but it’s definitely made a difference to my start. I don’t feel like I get held anywhere near as usual and I’m off to a flyer.

It’s downhill this first part – a quick check of my pace shows I’m doing about 6:50. Talk about getting carried away. Once we reach the bottom I level it off a bit, as any attempt to try and maintain this pace will see me laying in a pile of my own vomit by mile 4.

This first mile follows the river towards its mouth vis the Fish Quay. It’s always crowded this part of the race, but I do feel like I’m doing less ducking and weaving of runners – another sign I’m nearer the front.

Someone from the club takes a picture at this point, where for once, I don’t look completely shit/tired/weird/like I’m having a stroke.

The Fish Quay. Yes, it does smell how you’d think

Mile 1 down, 7:12. Fast for me. I blame the hill. Next up, we’re heading along the Prom. This bit always separates the men from the boys/women from the girls as we see who likes/trained for an uphill and who wishes they’d stayed in bed with the cover over their head.

It’s a double climb up from the river to the coast. We get one short climb (where we hit Mile 2 – a 7:20) before it mocks us by levelling off before the much worse climb up Priory Road.

I used to despise this climb. However, those of you who read my Marathon Training blogs (both of you) will know I used this road a few times for my Friday Hill repeats. So going up it once rather than ten times feels like redemption.

I ‘fly’ up it, the hard part done, and now we’re on the Coast. You do get a reward for that climb – a drop on the other side. Again, here’s another not completely shite photo of me on said drop. I must have had my photogenic head on today.

Catching my good side

We’ve levelled off again and I’m at the halfway mark. It’s a 7:23 mile – not bad when you consider we had two bastard hills in it. We’re now into Cullercoats and yet ANOTHER photo of me is taken. This one is very hi-res. Did I say I was looking photogenic earlier? I lied.

Smile you miserable bastard. This is fun.

To be fair, I feel far better than I look in this picture. I know I’m over the worst bit when it comes to climbs. It’s the weather that comes into play now.

Remember that head wind we talked about earlier? Well, it’s here, but it’s not bad. More of a tickle than a punch. For now.

More importantly, something else has quietly happened that I don’t realise till later – I’ve just broken my 5k PB. In the middle of a 10k. With a hill in it. Into a head wind. 22:24. Odd stuff.

And the hits keep on coming. I’m on familiar territory now, bombing along the coast on paths I must have run over 100s if not 1000s of times before. I feel great, and that’s reflected in a 7:11 mile 4.

Just before the Spanish City at mile 5, I feel my heels get clipped, and I nearly go flying. I instantly look behind me for the culprit – not to kick off by the way, but to reassure them I’m ok and that accidents happen. Because they do.

A very nice lady from another club instantly starts apologising and looks mortified, and I make sure she knows I’m really not upset and there’s no damage done. Later, when I relay this story to my club colleagues, they reckon she’s done it on purpose and was trying to kill me. Like some sort of Assassin. Cynical bastards.

Anyway, she slows me down by a huge 2 seconds as I clock a 7:13 mile 5, so there really wasn’t any harm done. We’re into the last mile, and that head wind is either starting to get stronger or I might just be tiring a bit. Here I am anyway, on the last incline that I’d completely forgotten about and am cursing under my breath.

Nearly there

One last push now, at a slightly slower 7:18, and I’m over the line in 45:26 – my 10k PB falling for a remarkable third time this year. It really isn’t my plan to do this when I set off – I really am just going out there to run as fast as I can whilst still ‘enjoying’ it.

PB Tastic

The goody bag is as always exactly what I’m after – a t-shirt and some socks. Who doesn’t need more running socks?

The other bonus of this race is the finish. Mainly, its proximity to my house. Within 30 minutes, I’ve walked home. No recovery jog. I can’t be arsed.

Next up, it’s the Coxhoe 10k Trail run where I can guaranfuckingtee you that my PB won’t tumble again. That’s nothing to do with being humble, and everything to do with the 3 mile hill you have to climb.

Can’t wait.